


I Think We're Gonna Be Okay

by Hyasinthum



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Blood, Child Death, Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22215037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyasinthum/pseuds/Hyasinthum
Summary: Clover has a hard time during the evacuation of Mantle and a harder time coping with the aftermath. Lucky for him, Qrow is there to pick him up when he's down.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 99





	I Think We're Gonna Be Okay

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic! I'm very excited to share it with you.

A nightmare. This was all a gods-damned nightmare.

Clover’s scowl deepens as he notes the roars coming from two blocks east, the screams of civilians rippling discordantly through the city. Mantle is burning, large bonfires in the city streets hindring evacuation attempts when they were only intended to provide warmth, safety. Clover whips his fishing hook toward a nearby Manticore, looping Kingfisher around its horn. He plants his feet and pulls, just barely holding it back from a storefront. His energy is flagging. Two wide-eyed women gawk at him from the shop’s doorway as he wrangles the beast.

“What are you sticking around for?” he shouts. “Go! There should be ships to get you out a few blocks south of here.”

The women nod and take off down the street. With them out of the way, Clover can finish off this Grimm and head in the direction of those screams. The Manticore growls and tosses its head, yanking Clover into the air. He uses the momentum to swing around it once, twice, before landing in a crouch. A flipped switch on Kingfisher’s handle has metal teeth punching out of the thick metal cord, and he pulls hard, severing the Grimm’s head. He retracts both the teeth and the fishing line and he makes a mental note to thank Pietro for serrating his weapon. Another roar sounds from two blocks over, then more screaming. It’s quieter this time, as if there are fewer voices. Clover suppresses a shudder and takes off in the direction of the noise.

Ears straining, he jogs down the street. _There._ He rounds a corner to find a massive fire in the middle of the road, blocking off his access to the civilians and the Grimm. It looks like a bonfire had spread, tickling the edges of the buildings on either side of the road. Clover scans his surroundings for a decent pole or a ledge. A well placed throw of Kingfisher has him swinging up and around the bonfire. As he lands, he hears a sickening crunch. He turns in time to see a small, limp body fall out of the maw of a Sabyr. A man wails to his left, the sound nearly animal. Red is already pooling around the child’s body, blending with other pools of red in the street. The man’s keening dissolves into blabbering sobs.

“My baby! Oh, Brothers, oh Gods, my baby!”

The man who had spoken scrambles to his feet and starts toward the child’s body. A teenaged boy grabs his arm, tugging him back.

“Dad, don’t! She’s gone! Please, Dad, we have to move!” Tears streak through the dirt on the boy’s face.

Clover’s hands shake. If he had used his semblance in getting here, he might have made it just in time to save the girl. But there’s no room for should-haves in this moment. He takes a deep breath and collects himself. A quick scan of the area reveals no other survivors. With one eye on the Sabyr, he addresses the two civilians.

“Guys,” he begins with a tremor in his voice. He clears his throat and tries again. “Guys. You gotta get out of here. There’s an evacuation transport at the corner of Progress Street and Bedrock Avenue. I’ll escort you there, but we need to move _now._ ”

As if reacting to the urgency in Clover’s tone, the Sabyr’s head snaps toward the trio. _Shit. Shit. Fuck._ The boy whimpers.

With a bonfire at their backs, a Grimm at their front, and no alleyways in sight, the three men are trapped. Clover sighs and gets to work. The Sabyr dodges his first two swings of Kingfisher. He lands the third throw, looping the cord around its front leg. It looks like it won’t be a quick kill, but he can pull the beast off-balance and finish it off while it’s down. Just as he has that thought, the Sabyr rears, pulling Clover unexpectedly forward. He loses his balance and teeters, but a nudge from his semblance has him finding his footing again. In the moment that it takes Clover to regain his balance, the Sabyr lunges forward with a snarl and bats him to the side with a massive paw. He goes flying, aura fizzling out as his back hits a wall. _FUCK!_ He tries to push himself to his feet, but a sharp pain in his side makes him stumble. He inhales sharply and the pain returns, vicious. It’s taking him too long to get up. He’s not going to get to the man and his son in time. He sees them holding each other, braced for a swipe of the Sabyr’s claws.

A shot rings out and the Sabyr yelps. Clover sees a flash of silver, hears the clicking of gears, and in the next moment Qrow is slicing his scythe through the Sabyr like it’s made of tissue. It disintegrates and reveals him, dirty and disheveled, hair askew, a wild glint in his eye. He turns to the father and son. Clover is usually happy to see Qrow, but this time he could cry with relief.

“Transport’s that way, six blocks west and nine blocks north.” Qrow takes in the damage, the bodies. His eyes darken. “Let’s go.”

The boy pipes up, still clutching his father. “But the other huntsman said the transport was in the other direction!”

“What? No. That one left already. Nearest available one is over so. Now c’mon, let’s move.” Qrow’s fingers twitch the way they do when he’s impatient. Clover’s seen the same motion during many a game of cards, when he takes too long to play a hand.

“Wait, we gotta check on the huntsman! He fell over that way,” the boy says, pointing.

“Huh?” Qrow jogs over to the wall where Clover is crouched, startling when he notices him. “Damn, Shamrock. Rough night?”

“You could say that,” he replies. He would flirt and banter with him like usual, but he just watched a little girl die and her father’s crying is still audible from a couple dozen feet away and he is so _gods-damned tired_.

Qrow extends a slender, pale hand to him, pulling him up with a surprising amount of strength. He places a hand on his side to steady him, and Clover hisses in pain. His chest hurts. So much.

“Well let’s get the fuck out of here before the night gets any rougher, yeah?”

~~~~~

Clover is restless. He rolls onto his back, and then onto his side, pulling a spare pillow close. His bed is warm, too warm, like the stifling heat of those bonfires. Images of blood flash through his mind, bodies left in the streets until it’s safer to retrieve them. He pauses a moment, then rolls onto his back again. Heaving a loud sigh, he pushes himself up and checks the clock on his night table. 3:43 AM. There’s no way in fuck he’s getting back to sleep now, so he fumbles aroud his room for some pants and an undershirt and goes looking for a distraction.

The halls of the academy are dimly lit; soft, blue lighting casting eerie shadows over everything. After the roar of the chaos in Mantle, everything is eerily quiet in comparison, the sound of Clover's footfalls echoing through the space. He comes up on the training room and opens the door, surprised to hear the swish of a blade and panting. Qrow trains in the middle of the room, blade arcing in graceful flashes. Clover watches in awe as the huntsman goes through his exercises, vicious and beautiful. His lithe form glides across the training floor. Clover gasps as Qrow executes a particularly complex move, startling the huntsman. Qrow's head whips toward Clover and he trips, falling in a heap on the floor. It's funny. Clover should laugh. He usually does. All he manages this time is a small smile as he walks over to Qrow.

Qrow looks up at Clover from where he lays on the ground, a sheepish smile on his face. "If I had known I was putting on a show for you, Shamrock, I would have rehearsed that part better."

Clover gives him a smirk. He grabs Qrow's arm and hauls him to his feet. "If you had put on a show for me, I would have picked a better outfit for you to wear," he purrs. His voice is missing some of its usual warmth, and he prays to the gods that Qrow doesn't notice.

Qrow looks down at his plain t-shirt and sweatpants. "Oh?" A faint blush spreads across his cheeks. He opens his mouth, closes it. He opens it again.

Clover breathes a sigh of relief. Qrow is too flustered to notice his demeanour.

Or so he thought. After Qrow stops gaping, he gives Clover an appraising look, mouth twisting into a frown.

"You alright there, Shamrock? You look like shit."

"And you're not too bad yourself, handsome." The compliment comes out shakily. Where is his voice? Where is the smoothness, the charm?

Qrow sighs. "You shouldn't do that, you know," he says. "Brushing off people's concern."

Clover clenches his jaw. He can't handle the worried look in his eyes, the soft rasp of his voice. He's a gods-damned Ace-Op. He can't afford to break his composure, not over something so stupid, not in front of his fellow huntsman.

Qrow picks up on the subtle shift in Clover's mood. "Clover, please. What's wrong?"

"What isn't wrong?" he shouts. "Everything is a fucking nightmare! There's an evil monster lady hell-bent on our destruction, Grimm crawling up our asses, and a fucking hacker and serial killer dream team prancing through the streets and wreaking havoc! And not to mention the fucktons of people dying in Mantle because someone always has to get the short end of the stick. And this kind of shit happened, is happening, in other kingdoms too? It's all just…"

Clover's breaths come out in ragged gasps. He suddenly drops to the floor, sitting with his head in his hands. His heart races and his ribs still hurt and it's all so much, too much. Tears fall despite himself, and he barely notices Qrow sit down beside him through his sadness and anguish and _terror_ . A sob tears itself from his throat. He tries to swallow the next one down, and fails. The sobs come rushing out of him, like a broken dam, and his shoulders shake from the force of it. He thinks of that little girl that he couldn't get to in time, her poor family, the frightened and desperate looks of those women, the frightened and desperate looks of everyone he encountered on the rescue mission. So many injured, so many dead, and isn't a leader supposed to _protect_ his people? What the fuck was the point of his position if he couldn't even help the people that needed it? He absently notes an arm settle around his shoulders and Qrow is there, pulling him close, murmuring to him with that soft raspy voice while Clover cries into his collarbone. They stay like that for a while, Qrow stroking his hair and holding him tightly.

Slowly, surely, Clover's crying dissolves to whimpering, then to the occasional hiccup. His eyes are swollen and itchy, and he rubs at them with the back of his hand. He tilts his head up and meets Qrow's eyes, grimacing a little.

"Gods, I must look like a mess," he says. His voice is raw and scratchy, almost like Qrow's.

The older huntsman chuckles. "Best damn mess I've ever seen." He tugs on his hair softly, playfully. His cheeks go pink and he removes his hand from Clover's hair. "Sorry, habit. I used to play with my sister's hair when she was upset. Calmed her down."

"No, it's fine. Go ahead, continue." Clover sighs at the feeling of Qrow's long, thin fingers gliding through his hair.

The two huntsmen fall into a comfortable silence. A few minutes pass.

"Hey," Clover begins. "How did you adjust so easily to this whole situation?"

"Honestly?" Qrow replies. "Lots and lots of booze. Didn't work out so well, though."

"Mm." For once, Clover doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything.

Qrow continues, "I'm used to bad shit happening around me. It's just another couple of things on the pile. Besides, I'm handling things much better now that I know that I've got some good people with me. It took me a long time to let myself rely on others. But it helps. It really does."

"Brothers, I hope this whole mess sorts itself out soon,” Clover says. “I’m not used to this level of chaos."

"I hope so too. But I think we’re gonna be okay. Maybe not spectacular, but I’ll settle for okay.”

“Hmm.” Clover’s eyes eventually grow heavy, lulled by the warmth of Qrow’s body and the gentle passes of his hands through his hair. He feels Qrow press a soft kiss to his temple. Clover is exhausted and his chest aches. His heart feels heavy. But his aura is slowly replenishing, healing his bruised ribs. He’s got good people with him. He’s warm, safe. Things are by no means spectacular. But as he drifts off to sleep, he realizes that right now, in this moment, they are okay.

And right now, in this moment, that’s all he can hope for.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
